Ringfield Part 18

"Now at last I shall live again, be a free agent, able to do my work!

You can have no conception of what it has been for me to get up my sermons, for example, or to go about among the people here, thinking of you, wondering if you would ever come to me or not. I have pictured you going back to that other man, and I have hated you for it, hated you both!"

"Oh--hush, hush, be careful!" Miss Clairville, like all women, was now afraid of the pa.s.sion she had awakened. "Let us get to work--some one may come in--you do not mind helping me now?"

"Not--if you mean what you say! Not--if this time you are telling me the truth!"

"You cannot forget that lapse of mine, it seems. Well, I do mean it, I do, I do! And you--you mean it too? You would take me even with my past, and that past unexplained, with my faults and my temper?"

"I have told you before that I would," he returned firmly. "No matter what has happened; no matter what you have done, what anyone else has done, I would, I will, I do take you! You are Heaven's choicest, dearest gift to me--and what am I but an erring man trying to walk straight and see straight!"

Miss Clairville's eyes sparkled with mischief, while her mouth remained solemn.

"Then you must not talk of hating. Love your enemies, Mr. Ringfield, and bless them that persecute you. That isn't in the Catholic Manual in those words perhaps, but I have seen it somewhere, I think in the Testament Nouveau. You see---- I am always 'good Methodist' as our friend Poussette would say."

"You shall be a better one in the future," exclaimed Ringfield, tenderly, and as at that moment Poussette himself appeared, to lend a.s.sistance, the interview was at an end.

And now ensued a scene which a week earlier would have sorely tried Ringfield's patience, but which now sufficed to amuse him, so secure was he in Pauline's affection and so contented with her recent promises. The evergreens were brought to her, seated on the platform and wearing gloves to protect her hands; she cut off the branches, trimmed them, and sometimes handed them to Poussette, and sometimes to Ringfield, who then nailed them up at the back of the improvised dais to make a becoming background; she also twined the smaller pieces into festoons and ropes for the side of the room, and Poussette, who could not keep his admiration a secret, hovered about her, continually pressing her fingers as he received the greens, patting her back, offering her the scissors and the ball of twine much more frequently than she required them. It was a relief to the couple most concerned when Miss Cordova entered, wearing an elaborately pleated and not too clean violet dressing gown, over which she had put on a dark blue blanket coat and her host's fur cap to keep her warm. Thus from the ill-a.s.sorted trio was formed a comfortable _partie carree_, for Poussette seemed careless as to which lady he attended and he still bore the cornelian ring upon his finger. Ringfield, forgetting his scruples, had promised to take the chair and introduce the artists; Antoine was door-keeper, and Poussette, clad in tweeds, a white waistcoat and tie of bright blue, would receive the guests in his own effusive way, seating the ladies carefully on the fresh yellow planks with great gallantry and address.

At eight o'clock the room began to fill, the village turning out well, and a few coming all the way from Hawthorne, among these Enderby, the c.o.c.kney butcher, and his wife and daughter, and as soon as Ringfield had made a few appropriate remarks, couched this time in safe and secular terms, the first number was given, consisting of an orchestral selection by four players belonging to St. Ignace and to the choir of Father Rielle's big church, St. Jean-Baptiste-on-the-Hill. A cornet, two fiddles and a flute rendered the music with good time and fair intonation, and as it was lighthearted, even gay in character, melodious and tripping, Ringfield thought it must be of operatic origin, but found later on to his intense surprise that it was a transcription of Mozart's Twelfth Ma.s.s, interpreted by Alexis Gagnon, the undertaker, as first violin, his eldest son, second violin, Francois Xavier Tremblay, one of the beneficiaries, on the cornet, and Adolphe Trudel, a little hunchback, on the flute.

This selection, performed with more gusto and enthusiasm than customary, gave so much satisfaction that it had to be repeated after noisy and prolonged applause, and then Miss Cordova appeared at the side of the platform, dressed in Spanish costume and carrying castanets. The opera of "Carmen," at that time quite new, had been performed in some small towns of the United States by a "scratch"

company, including Pauline's acquaintance and--to show that Art is a reality, and some people born into it, at their best in it and unfit for anything else--the lady was greatly changed, not only in Ringfield's eyes, but in her own. The greenish-yellow hair looked dull gold by lamplight; her eyes gleamed blackly from their blue crystallized lids (the bath of indigo being a stage device known to all devotees of the art), and her dancing, which immediately commenced to her own castanets and a subdued "pizzicato" from the two violins, was original and graceful, and free from any taint of vulgarity. Her draperies of handsome black and yellow stuffs were high to the throat and reached to her ankles; her expression was dreamy, almost sad; one would have said she was figuring in some serious rite, so dignified her mien, so chaste and refined her gestures. If Bizet has idealized the heroine of Prosper-Merimee's crude but strong little story, Sadie Cordova idealized in her turn the orthodox tempestuous, unhappy Carmen of the modern stage. The beauty of the music with its rhythmic measured beat, and the grace of her swaying changeful poses, riveted all eyes and ears, and Ringfield, to whom such an exhibition was altogether new, was absorbed in watching this woman he had endeavoured not to despise, and whom he certainly would have exhorted in his most earnest fas.h.i.+on to flee St. Ignace directly, had he known that she was a person who had experimented more than once in matrimony, not having waited for the death of her first husband before she married the second, and that she had two children living.

The next on the programme was a baritone solo from a young habitant, another of the Tremblay family, a portion of a Ma.s.s in which he was ill at ease, and over-weighted; this apparently not mattering to the populace, he was encored, and returned to sing, in his own simple fas.h.i.+on and without accompaniment, one of the many beautiful melodies known to him from his childhood--A Chanson Populaire.

Quand un Chretien se determine A voyager, Faut bien penser qu'il se destine A des dangers; Mille fois a ses yeux la mort Prend son image, Mille fois il maudit son sort Dans le cours du voyage.

Quand tu seras dans les portages, Pauvre engage, Les sueurs te couleront dea visages Pauvre afflige, Loin de jurer, si tu me crois, Dans ta colere, Pense a Jesus portant sa croix-- Il a monte au Calvaire!

What words were these--to be sung at a mixed concert in a summer hotel in the primitive village of St. Ignace? Ringfield knew enough French to follow them, and as the minor plainsong of the melody floated through the hall, he saw Miss Clairville's eyes filling with tears where she sat in the front at one side awaiting her turn. She had often spoken to him of the beautiful national music of her province--this was the first time he had heard it. But quickly now followed Poussette with a solo on the concertina, in which his fat body laboured to and fro, and his fat hands plunged the instrument to one side, then to the other, while his broad smile and twinkling eyes first pleased, then convulsed the audience. After him came Miss Clairville, and Ringfield, nervously reading out the t.i.tle of the song, did not observe how she was dressed until she had reached the platform and had greeted her audience. The black and scarlet garb so familiar to him was now accompanied by a smart little jacket of red worn rather queerly, since one arm only was thrust in and the empty sleeve caught up in some way he did not understand, while on her head she wore a kind of arch hussar's cap. It was evident that her selection was familiar to some in the audience, those who had seen her as "La Grande d.u.c.h.esse de Gerolstein" in Montreal, and a few who had attended similar functions to the present.

"It's only an old turn of mine," she managed to whisper to Ringfield, "but they all like it. Le Sabre de Mon Pere--I never tire singing it myself. You look stupid enough this minute to be my Fritz--but there--you do not understand!"

The accompaniment was played on the American organ, moved for that occasion up to the platform, but even that could not detract from the pa.s.sionate pride and fire with which Miss Clairville rendered that spirited song, so far removed from opera "bouffe" or "comic" opera; indeed the n.o.ble character of the first strain was considerably enhanced by the church-like quality of the accompaniment. So far Ringfield was greatly surprised, for he had seen and heard nothing that failed to appeal to the artistic and elevated side of life, and Pauline threw additional vigour and life into her representation of the autocratic d.u.c.h.ess, half-acted, half-sung, as she observed her latest captive; new chains were being forged by the unexpected grandeur and beauty of her thrilling voice and all went breathlessly and well until the door at the end of the room opened and a startling figure appeared.

This was Edmund Crabbe--but no longer Crabbe the guide, the dilatory postmaster, the drunken loafer; in his stead appeared Crabbe Hawtree, Esquire, the gentleman and "Oxford man," in his right mind and clothed--_mirabile dictu_--in full and correct evening dress.

Piccadilly and Pall Mall need not have been ashamed of him; the regulation coat, waistcoat and trousers were there, a little worn, but still in fas.h.i.+on; the white tie was there, the stiff collar and cuffs, the patent leather pumps, even a white silk handkerchief tucked inside the waistcoat, and some kind of sprig in the b.u.t.tonhole. He paused, carefully shutting the door behind him, and stood while Pauline finished her song; at its conclusion he walked up through the rows of village people--shanty and mill hands, habitants and farmers--and presented the artist with a handsome bunch of florist's roses, quite in the accepted style of large cities, and her surprise was evident. She started, stared at him, faltered, and might have spoken but for the impa.s.sive and nonchalant air with which he faced her. As for Ringfield, a great anger and distress filled his mind. What spasm of reform had animated this fallen, worthless creature to create an impression which could not, in the nature of things, lead to systematic rehabilitation? To ape the garb of worthy men, to stand thus, tricked out in the dress of a remote civilization from which he had thrust himself forever, before the woman he perhaps had wronged, and with so easy and disdainful a bearing, seemed to Ringfield the summit of senseless folly and contemptible weakness. Subjected during the rest of the evening to the cynical, amused and imperturbable gaze of this man, whom, in spite of his Christianity, he hated, Ringfield made but a sorry chairman. His French stuck in his throat; he cast dark and angry looks at the noisy flirtation going on between Poussette and Miss Cordova, and it was with relief that he heard the patriotic strains of "G.o.d Save the Queen" from the strength of the company, in which the hoa.r.s.e ba.s.s of the transplanted c.o.c.kney, Enderby, the Hawthorne butcher, was paramount.

Crabbe was waiting for Pauline and gave her his arm down from the platform.

"Well," said he, openly displaying his admiration, "you gave us a Gregorian Grand d.u.c.h.ess to-night, but I, for one, will not quarrel with you for that. All the old time vivacity and charm were there, I a.s.sure you, and I do not find as much alteration in your style and appearance as I expected from hearing that you had joined the Methodists!"

Pauline glanced quickly from Crabbe to Ringfield; she foresaw an open and unseemly quarrel, and as one could never tell when Crabbe was sober, she rather feared than welcomed the bright audacity of his manner, the amiable ease with which he held the situation. In the presence of the guide Ringfield always lost his austere calm; his manners underwent deterioration and he stood now with a rigid _gaucherie_ spoiling his fine presence, and a pitiful nervousness prompting him to utter and do the wrong thing.

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Methodists all the same, you know," continued Crabbe, giving her arm a final and caressing pat as he released her, "but still I've seen better chairmen." Crabbe was now leaning lazily against the wall and occasionally moved his arm across Miss Clairville's back, as if he might at any moment fold it around her waist as he had done outside the barn.

"Your French needs polis.h.i.+ng up a bit. How would a course at one of our theological colleges down here do for you? It's a pity you couldn't have six months even at Laval--but, of course, Sabrevois and the long procession of colporteurs is more in your line. But in spite of such small defects you remain a man of cheerful yesterdays, and we may presume--equally confident tomorrows, and therefore, to be envied."

The three stood comparatively alone, the people having pa.s.sed out and Poussette and Enderby talking apart in a corner. Every vestige of healthy colour fled from the minister's face, and his hands clasped and unclasped with peculiar and unnatural tension. In his brain a prayer had formed. "My Dear G.o.d--" he kept saying to himself--"my Dear G.o.d--help me from myself! Protect me now lest I offend Thee, and be forever cast from Thy Holy Presence. Remove this temptation from me, or give me strength to meet it and endure, and so rise triumphant."

His lips moved and the word "G.o.d" made itself faintly heard. Pauline went closer to him and saw the set strain of his face and watched the tightening fingers.

"Oh, you are right--we torture you, he and I, with our foolish ways that you do not understand!"

"I understand well enough," he returned below his breath; "I understand better than you think. But come now, come away with me!"

"Come--where? I am living here, remember!"

"Come away--away!"

A new recklessness animated Ringfield; he was now the one to dash aside convention and make a bold attempt for mastery. "It is not yet very late. The snow is dry and hard--we can walk for half an hour."

Crabbe smiled in a slow infuriating way.

"I claim, I demand the lady for something better than a walk, under dreary midnight skies, over cold and inhospitable winter snows! Like a man in a certain chronicle I have made a supper and would bid you both attend--one at least."

"A supper? But whom----" Pauline stopped, although glad of the diversion Crabbe's words offered. She had seen him hand a couple of bills towards the Tremblay fund; she now recollected preparations towards extra cooking during that day, which she had set down to Poussette's mania for treating and feeding people, but which now must be attributed to the guide, and in her hand were the forced roses sent from Montreal--there was no nearer place. Crabbe must be out of his senses, for never before even in the old days when his remittance came to hand had she seen him so lavish. He read her meaning.

"Who pays, eh! Is that it, my lady? Well, I do on this occasion, and the fact is--well, I'll tell you all about it at supper."

Pauline, still incredulous but extremely curious, took small notice of Ringfield after this, and as Enderby was approaching, and she particularly avoided meeting anyone from Hawthorne on all occasions, she departed with the guide. There was a very attractive supper ready for her in a private room, where Miss Cordova was also present in her Spanish costume, a giddy chaperone who soon retired and left the two together, and Pauline could hardly credit the fact that Crabbe was genuinely sober, clad in his irreproachable evening suit, his hair neatly brushed with a kind of military cut, and his features composed and pleased, recalling much of what he had been when first they met; and she also observed with much surprise that Poussette was present at the feast altogether in the character of menial and inferior, with his coat off, bustling about with the gla.s.ses, corkscrews and towels.

Instead of hobn.o.bbing with the guide, he waited upon him with discretion and a.s.siduity, and Pauline even fancied that towards herself there was a grain more of respect than of admiration in the hotel keeper's bearing.

CHAPTER XIX

REHABILITATION

"Cast from the pedestal of pride with shocks."

All through the little supper, made gay by the brilliant dresses of the ladies and the bunches of roses in the middle of the table, a restlessness marked the guide's manner; he was clearly anxious to have it over, get rid of Poussette and Miss Cordova, and be alone with Pauline.

It was a quarter to twelve when this was arrived at, and Crabbe took the precaution of closing the door securely after the Frenchman, and of seeing that the blind was sufficiently lowered over the one window which looked on the side of the cleared yard nearer the river, but he did not think of looking out of the window. Perhaps if he had he would not have recognized Ringfield in the straight dark shadow that kept walking up and down, up and down, as long as the light shone from that room. When he at last found himself secure and alone, the Englishman's stoicism, pride, and remorse, all came forth at one bound. He sat down and swept the dishes away from him, reached for Pauline's hand, and bent his head down over it upon the table, smothering different e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, which, warm and earnest enough, were totally removed from his usual style of impa.s.sioned speech--he uttered nothing profane. But he sobbed--sobbed.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Miss Clairville in alarm. "What has happened?

I never saw you like this before. It frightens me--why you sound as if you were crying, but that would be impossible. Oh, tell me, tell me!"

He grew calmer, lifted his head and felt for his handkerchief. "Yes, it's quite possible! I believe I have shed a tear or two. The first in how many years, Pauline? Ah--that I could not, would not wish to compute, but it's over now, I----"

He stopped, released her hand and began settling his clothes with the familiar touches she remembered so well. "I--well; Pauline, it's this; I've come into money. Now you know. Now you understand. And another thing--I know how to make money--what's more. Nothing succeeds like success, you see, and by Heaven--one thing followed on another till I could have gambled for luck, lost all, and won all back! Oh--I don't know what I'm saying, but I mean that one thing would have been enough, and there came two, two at once, here in the middle of this gloomy wood, this Inferno of a place I have hated so well and so long.

Gad--it isn't half bad to-night though! I feel like a gentleman, I hope I look like one; I can act like one at least: pay my way, pay for this little spread, pay for your roses--what did you think when you saw them?"

Pauline did not take her eyes off him. She was alarmed, not believing a word he said, and she did not answer with her usual spirit.

"I thought them very wonderful of course in this out-of-the-way place.